Before and After
by forensicsfan
Summary: I know many people have theories about what happened in Sara's past. This is my take on what I think might have happened. Written from Sara's point of view.


**Disclaimer:** I don't own them, I didn't create them, and I don't profit from them, but as always, coffee with George and Jorja would be nice.

**Author's Note:** This idea came to me from two different episodes. The first is where Sara is watching the film footage of that dad encouraging his son to blow up a frog. Her expression is so disturbing. The second is from the episode where she is looking up the case of Modesto vs. Laura Sidle and I couldn't pass up what my gut was telling me. I'm sure many people have theories about Sara's past. This is mine.

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_**Sara's Point of View:**_

Many people divide their lives into before and after. Before I go to college, after I get married, before I retire. They are little compartments that speak of life transitions. Some are good and some are not so good. In my case, I can only think about after.

For me the before ceased to exist that day in 1984.

I glance around because I want to make sure that no one is going to walk in while I do what I haven't wanted to do in twenty years. Thankfully Catherine appears to be on her way out the door to spend some time with Lindsey. Earlier I saw Sophia and Grissom talking; their body language very much looking like they would be there for a while. The guys seem to be having a good time in the break room and I'm glad because after this case, Greg could certainly use something to laugh at. I could really use something to laugh at too, but I think what I need more is to finally face my own demons.

The words on the screen are staring back at me and the images of that day come rushing back to me. I have a distinct impression of the smell of leather and a feel of butterflies in my stomach as I place my right hand down on a Bible and swear to tell the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth so help me God. And I feel as if while I'm answering the questions that follow that I've somehow betrayed my entire existence to that point. I can't look her in the eye; in fact I've not even seen her since that day.

The images of before invade my mind and for the first time in twenty years I don't immediately try and banish them. I know that I need to let them filter in as I read the words in front of me so that I can put them inside of some sort of framework. It wasn't an idyllic life by any standard. Chaotic, unpredictable, and sometimes violent would certainly be a better description. She always claimed that everything was fine and everything was normal, but somewhere deep inside I knew that it really wasn't. No other girl I knew spent her thirteenth birthday getting a head start on science homework while trying to ignore the angry shouts and slamming doors that I'd grown accustom to hearing my whole life. If I was lucky, that was all I heard, however, it seemed that over that next summer in particular, just before I turned fourteen, things began to escalate.

If I could be perfectly rational, I could probably step back and see that what happened really had nothing to do with me. But it did happen around me and so my emotions have clouded the details of exactly what happened that day. I seem to have a vague recollection that I'd made a friend at school who was just as crazy about science as I was, and I was determined with my birthday just a week away that I was going to ask if I could have a slumber party.

I never got to ask.

I could hear them shouting before I'd even gotten halfway to the porch. It made me wonder if the guests in the bed and breakfast they ran could hear them. As I got nearer, I saw her running out the door, blood trailing down the side of her face and him right behind her. I froze in my tracks knowing that if I attempted to step between them that I would get the brunt of whatever he intended for her. I think I screamed, but I couldn't hear myself as everything after that seemed to move in slow motion.

My mother made it as far as a pile of lumber near where they were building onto the bed and breakfast. She picked up a two by four and swung it at him with all her might. She had put up with his drunken rages for as long as I could remember and I think this time she'd finally had enough. With one swing, he was down on the ground out cold. She didn't stop there. She just kept on swinging until she crumpled into a sobbing heap next to him. The image of my father lying there as his blood seeped out and mingled with the dusty soil of my home in Tamales Bay is imbedded into my mind forever. He never regained consciousness and my own personal hell both began and ended that day.

The jury was quick to convict her when the trial was held two months later. She was clearly guilty of murder in the day before battered woman's syndrome was seen as a legitimate defense. I think she was relieved that she'd get to spend the next twenty-five years behind bars rather than deal with the uncertainty of a man who loved her dearly, but loved the bottle even more.

My brother and I were sent into foster care; he was almost of legal age so he didn't have to stay long. I haven't really seen him since that day either. He joined the Army as soon as he turned eighteen and never looked back.

I know that my PEAP counselor helped me see that much of why I'm a workaholic and why I had a near DUI last spring is directly related to everything that happened before. But it's this case that finally pushed me to find answers, and perhaps to see my mother for the first time in twenty years. I see people like her everyday and as I get older I have begun to understand how much of her own life must have been sheer hell. I need to reconcile myself with the fact that despite the fact that the people I loved did horrible things to each other I still loved them.

I really didn't realize that I had tears streaming down my face until I hear a familiar voice break through my reverie.

"Sara, are you ok?" Nick's drawl just seems more pronounced when he's truly concerned and I can see by the expression on his face that he's not going to believe me if I say I'm fine.

I'm conscious of the fact that tears are still falling and Nick is moving to sit beside me and only then do I realize that he's going to find out what I've worked so hard to keep a secret from everyone I've met since that day.

His hand feels so comforting as it envelopes mine. "Sar, what's wrong?"

I just don't seem to have words, and that simple, kind gesture from Nick seems to open up a floodgate of tears and as I see him look at the screen and register what it is I've been looking at I brace myself for rejection. What I get instead is Nick wrapping his arms around me while I continue to cry. I'm not sure he understands all of what is displayed on my computer screen, but I know that enough of it is up there for him to put the pieces together to get a fairly good idea.

"Sara, it's ok to cry." There is a hitch in his voice and I know that he knows, but somehow I think he knows on a deeper level and for some reason I find that both disturbing and comforting.

I don't think I can remember the last time I've cried like this and I'm thankful for Nick's protective embrace. There's a part of me that doesn't think that I'll ever stop crying and another part of me that feels as if a portion of my soul is finally being cleansed with these tears. I get the sense that several people have gathered in the doorway, concerned that I have finally completely lost it, but Nick just holds me a little tighter and waves whoever it is away to give me some semblance of dignity.

When I finally stop crying, just the occasional hiccup, I continue to let Nick hold me. He's rubbing my back and he keeps making shushing noises until I finally pull out of his embrace, wiping at my tear streaked face as an embarrassed smile pulls at my lips. I'm not really sure what to say to him, or what to say at all for that matter.

Nick still looks concerned, but I see the corners of his mouth twitch upward into a smile. "You gonna be ok?" There are many things that I appreciate about having a friend like him.

"Yeah, I think so." I nod, not sure that I quite believe my words.

Nick hesitantly gestures towards the computer screen and carefully arches one of his brows. "That's some heavy stuff to carry alone."

I know what he's offering and before he walked into the room I didn't think I'd ever be willing to talk to anyone about this outside of my counselor. I find myself looking into his eyes and I see a kindness and an understanding there that makes me realize that maybe sharing this burden would make it easier to bear. I just nod at him. "I know."

There is something like gathering courage in Nick's eyes and he reaches over and takes my hand, giving it a squeeze. "I'm a good listener." His expression is open.

I nod again. I think I need to talk about this and somehow I think he might understand. "Yeah, I'd like that."

He smiles and I think he's hopeful that my willingness to talk about my own personal hell is a sign that I really am going to be ok. "Pizza and beer at my place?"

I find myself sniffling out a laugh. "How about pizza and iced tea instead?"

I can tell he looks a little surprised that I'd turn down one of the microbrews he keeps in his fridge, but then I think he can tell that there's a myriad of things about my life right now that might surprise him. He just nods as a grin spread across his face. "Iced tea it is."

Deep down I have a feeling that I'll look back at this moment somedayand measure things against it as before and after.

_**The End**_


End file.
